


Won't Fall

by goseaward



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4238907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goseaward/pseuds/goseaward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis needs a new bartender.  Niall finds Nick Grimshaw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liyumpeyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liyumpeyn/gifts).



> Thanks to a friend (to be named later!) for last-minute brainstorming help!

"Hey," Niall says, leaning in the door of Louis's office.

Louis looks up. There's a tall shadow hovering in the hall behind Niall. "Everything all right?" Louis says.

"This is Nick." Niall steps into the office, leaving the tall shadow to reveal itself as a stick insect of a man with improbably vertical hair and sleepy eyes. "He's a bartender." Niall nods, satisfied.

"Nice to meet you," Louis says perfunctorily. Nick echoes him.

When Louis doesn't say anything else, just raises an eyebrow, Niall continues. "I thought, since we've been shorthanded since Ben took that other gig, and Nick's looking for a job—"

"It's not quite like that," Nick says. He's Northern, Louis can tell, though not Yorkshire. Nick glances at Niall, frowning, like he doesn't know what's going on.

Louis leans back. "We are short a bartender, that's true. Speaking of which, Niall, why aren't you out front?" He raises his eyebrows way up, and behind Niall, Nick's expression twitches just a hint into amusement.

"It's my break," Niall says easily. "Anyway—I'm sure he'd be great. We should hire him."

"I'll, ah, wait outside," Nick says, looking apologetically at Louis. "Sorry, he just said he was going to introduce me—you're terrible, by the way." Niall smiles right back at him, unbothered.

He's not wrong, really. Louis's got an ad out, but Niall's good with people, and if he likes Nick he'll probably fit in with the rest of the employees. Louis knows he has an unusual management style, and he's had a few prospects who ran screaming within a week. "All right, if you don't mind working part time," Louis says, before Nick can leave. "If you come by around seven tomorrow I can have the paperwork ready and Niall and I can show you around. Unless you need some time with another job?"

"Oh, really?" Nick's eyes have got comically wide. "Yeah, tomorrow's fine. That'd be....that's very nice of you, thanks."

Louis nods. "See you then." 

Niall and Nick leave, heads together like they're already scheming against him. That's fine, Louis can scheme better than Niall any day. Nick, he's sure, won't be any trouble at all.

* * *

Within a week of Nick starting the job, there's a handwritten list stuck behind the bar with all of the dance songs Nick thinks the DJ should be playing. "We have a reputation to uphold," Louis says, since the rock and pop-heavy mix is what differentiates this spot from the ten others in the surrounding blocks; Nick says, faux-innocently, "You have this reputation _on purpose_?" so Louis squirts him with the fizzy water. That actually does double duty by expressing Louis's opinions of Nick's music and also Nick's clothing and hair.

* * *

Louis likes to wander around the club when it's full of people, make himself seen, shake hands with the VIPs, et cetera. Most of his income these days is from the real estate he owns in the surrounding neighbourhood, but there's something satisfying about having a living, breathing business to work with, full of people having a good time and enjoying the kind of music that Louis loves. His managerial staff can handle things, but this is Louis's baby, his first business and his favourite, and he's here more often than he needs to be.

"Any problems?" Louis says, leaning against the bar. It's early, still, and a weeknight, so they're not full.

"There's this little annoying guy who keeps asking me questions." Nick finishes pulling a beer from one of the taps and flashes Louis a grin as he hands it to a customer.

"We can get Alberto to kick him out," Louis says solemnly. "I take your safety very seriously, and people who ask questions can be quite threatening. Can't they?"

"Very scary. Look, me knees are shaking and everything."

Louis comes around behind the bar whilst Nick takes orders from a couple of customers. Louis washes his hands and then starts cutting limes for the tequila they ordered. It's Nick's job, technically, but a week in he's still curious about his new employee. His new employee who's annoying, but also annoyingly close to Louis's type. "No commentary on the music today?" he says. He'd been treated to a thesis the last two nights Nick worked.

"Would it do any good?" Nick reaches around Louis to grab some an empty glass. Louis's not sure he needed to get so close to Louis to do that, but: complaints, he doesn't have them. 

"You could talk to the DJ, make some more suggestions," Louis says. 

Nick makes a face at him "It's not my fault you're all hopelessly stuck in a single mindset. I'm surprised you even get a dancefloor going." He takes the limes Louis cut and garnishes the glasses. "I can DJ too, you know, if you ever need it."

Louis debates going for Nick's eyes with his citrusy fingers, but he thinks Nick wears contacts, and he likes to annoy, not permanently damage. "Eugh, no. Nobody likes your strange electronic dance shit." 

Nick starts listing off the nearby competitors until Louis cuts him off.

"I'm hurt," Louis says. "This is a very special venue, this. And anyway, didn't you meet Niall because you came in here of your own free will?"

"Yeah, let's celebrate _that_ day," Nick says dryly, but he's smiling. 

Louis loves an appreciative audience in any situation, but especially when it comes from men who look like Nick do. He half wonders if Nick's looks are why Niall had suggested Nick as an employee, after the Carl fiasco, except that Louis shouldn't date employees and also Niall's not usually that manipulative. "We can if you want. I'll get you a nice greeting card and everything. Probably not cake. I'm not made of money, you know."

Nick rolls his eyes at him. "No thank you."

"Right, then." Louis pushes the lime wedges over to Nick and washes his hands again. "Everything's in order here. Well done, keep up the good work."

Niall looks like he's trying very hard not to fall over laughing. This is his fault, anyway. He can deal with having to listen to Louis flirt.

Louis wanders over to VIP to gladhand the patrons, and finds Harry Styles, with his usual entourage, flopped loose-limbed all over a padded bench. "Hazza!" he says, happily. Harry flaps a hand at him. "Sorry I didn't come over earlier, they didn't tell me you were here." Most of Louis's friends are his employees, frankly, but Harry's one of the exceptions; they'd met when Harry held an album launch at the club, and he's been a regular fixture ever since.

"I could've texted you," Harry says, in typically laconic fashion. "I figured you'd come out eventually, though." He grins. "Then I saw you flirting with Nick, so—"

"I never!" Louis says, faux offended. 

Harry doesn't even blink. "That was much more fun," he finishes. "You're nicer when you're in love."

"Terrible when he gets broken up with, though," Jeff says, scrolling idly through his phone.

"Excuse you both, I am wonderful at all times," Louis says.

"Mmm." Harry stretches. "Come here." 

Louis sits down next to him, and Harry rearranges him how he likes, so he's tucked into Harry's side with one ridiculously long arm around his shoulders. 

"Yes, you're wonderful," Harry sighs, squeezing him. "Look how cute he is, Jeff."

"Very cute," Jeff says robotically.

"Hopefully this makes your boy jealous," Harry says, not particularly softly, into Louis's ear.

"Aw, and here I thought you just wanted a cuddle."

Harry grins at him. "Always."

He is very comfortable to lean against, actually. And he's right: Nick's watching them, just casual glances, from the bar, but it's a different pattern from the last few nights—he hasn't usually looked up so much. Probably it's just Harry, though, and not Louis with Harry, that's captured his attention.

"Do I get to play a new single of yours soon?" Louis says.

Harry shrugs. "Maybe if you're very nice to me."

Louis twists one of his nipples, which probably counts as being nice as far as Harry's concerned. "Release date?"

"My lips are sealed."

"Ah, if only."

Harry runs a hand through Louis's hair. "I'll let you know. And, ah, good luck, babe," he says, nodding to the bar, before shooing Louis off to see to the rest of the tables.

* * *

"Barkeep, what's good today?" Louis says, coming to a halt across from Nick and slapping his hand down on the bartop.

Nick flicks his eyes over to where Louis's standing and finishes restocking the glassware before he answers. "We've got a lovely Budweiser," he says, deadpan.

"Never heard of it," Louis says. Nick's lips quirk. "If that's the best you've got, then I'll have one."

Nick pulls a pint for Louis—it's not the Bud, thank fuck, which is from a different set of taps, though Louis can't tell exactly what he's getting—and drops a cocktail umbrella in before handing it over. Louis raises his eyebrows and takes a sip with his pinky out, and Nick looks politely inquiring about it, except that his eyes are sparkling like he's about to fall over laughing. (He does, in fact, fall over when Louis forgets about the umbrella two minutes later and nearly gets it up his nose. After that, all of Louis's drinks get umbrellas in them.)

* * *

Whatever Louis feels about Nick, it's not reciprocated. He never seeks Louis out, though he'll talk happily enough of Louis approaches him first. Louis, who's decided he needs to know absolutely everything about Nick, has to resort to eavesdropping and outright asking, which is just wrong: people should tell him what he wants to know. From Nick's paperwork, Louis knows that he's 37, but he has to do legwork on everything else. 

For instance: "Near Manchester, right?" Louis asks, one night as he's fixing the dodgy spare till behind the bar yet again.

"Oldham, yep," Nick says. "You're Yorkshire?"

"Doncaster."

"So you drink weird tea, then?"

Louis glares. "I drink _proper_ tea, thank you."

Nick has to take an order; Louis punches some buttons on the till, looking for the source of the problem, and listens to Nick interact. "I mostly drink coffee anyway," Nick says once he's back near Louis, making the cocktails. He's going to need cherries for one of them, and they're closer to Louis than they are to Nick, so Louis steps to the side, blocking his way.

"You're allowed to call in sick if you've got a touch of American," Louis says.

"I think this is Australian, actually," Nick said. "I'm noticing a reduced fear of poisonous reptiles. Could you pass the cherries?"

Louis continues prodding the till as if he hasn't heard.

Behind him, Nick sighs out, annoyed. Suddenly there are two hot palms on Louis's waist, Nick's long fingers wrapping around so they almost touch beneath his navel, and Louis's mouth goes entirely dry as he's more or less picked up and moved to the side. "Thanks!" Nick says, taking the jar of cherries.

Louis's so busy dealing with the inappropriate erection that he only realizes later that he didn't manage to glean any more information about where Nick had lived and when. If it wasn't so unlikely, Louis would think Nick's hiding some sort of secret, but it never seems quite like that: just like parts of Nick's life are so uninteresting he won't talk about them, even as he talks endlessly about his dog.

Louis tries again for more information when he's helping with inventory. "Did you ever imagine a job could be this much fun?" he asks as they shove some crates out of the way to find a box of vodka bottles Louis's sure is hiding in the back.

For once, Nick doesn't make a joke of it. "I wasn't really working before this," he says. "It's not so bad, anyway. I've always wanted spiders in my hair."

Louis spends far too much time staring at Nick across the bar and hoping nobody notices. There's something compelling about his face that Louis can't place. Is it the large but slightly hooded eyes? The broad forehead? The faint freckles that seem impossible from far away, but dust his whole face like glitter when you get close enough to see? The upper lip that looks like the silhouette of a suspension bridge?

Whatever it is, Louis's never going to get close to it. Maybe he should spend less time at work, meet other people...but he just likes all of his employees. It's often why he hired them. So, ongoing torture via a human version of Tantalus's grapes it is.

* * *

Nick's more open with Niall. Overheard conversations, once Louis wades through all the sports talk from Niall and then Nick and Niall's mutual love of inferior music, are full of stories of Nick's friends. Gillian, Aimee, Henry, Douglas, Harry, Pixie, Alexa, Daisy, George, Michael (not George Michael, Nick hastens to add), Mairead—Louis's not sure why he remembers this at all—and once, very memorably, an ex-boyfriend, so Louis's rapidly developing obsession isn't the most stupid thing he's ever done. (To be fair, even if Nick was straight the most stupid thing Louis has ever done would still be his own ex-boyfriend Carl, but Louis tries to think about that as little as possible.) 

Because, the thing is, Nick's got execrable taste in music and even worse taste in clothing, and he doesn't react at all appropriately to Louis's jokes half the time, and he steals some of Louis's prime Niall time, but he's still tall and goodlooking and kind-hearted, and Louis might be developing a bit of a crush. Especially with the way he takes extra care with everyone: helping Alberto take a young couple out to a taxi near closing when they'd been enjoying themselves too much; passing off a strip of condoms to a young man who looks lost in the crowd; cheering up the people who linger by the bar on slow nights. Carl was such a disaster that Louis's pretty sure anyone nice would be better, but even with normal standards Nick is just a good guy.

Anyway, he's Louis's employee and obviously not interested, since he always waits for Louis to come to him.

* * *

Leaning in the door of Louis's office, Nick says, "I did half a business degree," apropos of nothing.

"What was the other half?" Louis says. He knows Nick didn't finish uni, but Louis's never met an opportunity for awkwardness he wouldn't attempt to exploit. It's his go-to reaction when he's not sure what else to do, when, for example, Nick has suddenly decided to talk to Louis of his own free will.

Nick shrugs. "Didn't graduate. Anyway. You're good at this, an' all. I can't do it, but I can tell."

Louis stares at him, wondering if he can look hard enough to see into Nick's brain. He doesn't seem like he's taking the mick, but why else would he be seeking Louis out, and to praise his competence, too? "Thanks," Louis says, belatedly.

Nick taps the doorframe and vanishes as quickly as he appeared. 

"What the _fuck_ ," Louis mutters under his breath.

* * *

One Sunday, Carl shows up.

Louis hasn't officially barred him from ever coming in, but he thought it was common sense that you didn't show up at your ex-boyfriend's nightclub with the replacement in tow. But, as with so many things, Carl either didn't get the message or received it and then burned it in the eternal hellfire that passed for his soul, so when Louis comes out to do his usual rounds he finds Carl and his new guy cuddled up at the bar. They are, at least, far away from Nick, so Louis doesn't have to worry about Nick suddenly deciding Carl's the greatest and then getting an earful of Louis's worst qualities. They're still closer to Nick than to Niall, though, so Louis also doesn't have to worry about Niall defending his honour, because Niall definitely would.

Louis doesn't kick Carl out, or make a scene, or throw a drink on him, or any of the million things he thinks about doing. It's not propriety so much as the desire to deny Carl the satisfaction, given the things he'd said when they broke up. Instead, he makes sure to catch Carl's eye and nod judiciously before finishing his circuit and then escaping to the storage room for a bottle of cheap Scotch. He can afford the expensive stuff, but he doesn't plan on being able to taste it for very long.

He scrolls through Facebook on his mobile whilst he makes it through drinks one, two, and three. He doesn't particularly go looking for Carl, but Carl likes to post a lot—it's the reason Louis doesn't use Facebook that often, if he's honest, even though his mum puts all the pictures of the kids there. It's sore and gratifying like prodding a bruise to scroll through and see happy Carl with his hot young boyfriend, hotter and younger than Louis ever was, doing disgustingly cute couple things like feeding each other bites of brunch. Christ, Louis used to date a guy who goes to _brunch_. 

That was the worst part of the whole Carl fiasco: he'd felt so _stupid_ when it ended. Carl had been an arsehole even before they broke up, but he'd been into Louis, seemingly very into Louis, and it had felt so nice to be on the receiving end of that kind of attention, instead of the one who was more invested. So he'd let himself ignore all the things that were bad in favour of the boost to his ego, and then he'd looked like a right idiot when it turned out to be a fa &ccircade. And even now he can still feel the echo of the affection, even though he knows exactly how unworthy Carl was of it. 

Scotch number four has him trolling the web for Nick's online presence instead. He's not on Facebook, but he's got a pretty active Instagram, full of photos of him doing terribly hipster things with his terribly hipster friends, huge smiles on their terribly hipster faces. Louis doesn't caress Nick's cheek on the screen, but it's a near thing. The most recent photos have Harry and sometimes Niall grinning in the back somewhere, and Louis shoves down the surge of jealousy—he's not even sure which of them he's jealous of, if he's honest. How did Nick even get to be friends with Harry? There are some celebrities scattered throughout the photos, too, and he realizes that the Pixie and Alexa and Daisy of Nick's stories are people Louis's seen in the gossip rags before, even met a few times at various events. That answers some questions, anyway, about Nick's comfort level with the VIP guests, which Louis had attributed to his good-natured personality. But it raises others, such as: how does he know them?

The next few drinks are probably a bad idea, but Louis's already decided tonight isn't a night for good decisions, so he drinks them anyway. He works out Nick's twitter account, and it's full of funny commentary and way too many letters in some of the words. That's not enough to count as Nick's secret personality flaw, but Louis is definitely going to judge Nick on it anyway. Of course, he can't do it in person, because then he'd have to admit he's been looking up Nick's twitter account.

He's halfway through yet another drink when the door pushes open and—of course—it's Nick bringing in the last batch of empties for recycling. It must be closer to the end of the night than Louis thought.

Nick makes it halfway into the room before he notices Louis on the floor where he's leaning on some cases of beer. Nick startles so hard he nearly drops the bag he's holding. Louis commits his expression to memory, hoping it'll last through his drunk haze tonight so he can relive it tomorrow and really savour it.

"Er, you all right?" Nick says, clutching the bag to his stomach.

"Yeah. Just my _fucking_ ex," Louis says, raising his bottle in an ironic toast.

Nick nods understandingly. "Was she in tonight, or...?"

Well, Louis's been doing all right keeping a lid on his little crush, if Nick made that mistake. "Guy at the bar tonight, tall redhead? With a tiny little blond...elf...thing."

Nick's eyes widen. They're pretty big eyes to begin with, so now they look like saucers. " _Carl_? You dated Carl the Walking Bell-End?"

Louis barks out a laugh, as much surprise as amusement. "Wow," he says, impressed.

"Oh, God, sorry," Nick says, mouth twisting in a rueful smile. "He dumped a friend of mine and he was a huge prick about it so, like, I hate him in solidarity. Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't slag off people you've dated."

Yeah, like Louis needs another reason to think Nick is perfect. Great. "It's fine. A walking bell-end is nicer than what I call him." Louis sighs and levers himself up off the ground, which proves to be an extremely stupid idea, because he almost falls over as soon as he's up. He manages to grab the top of the stack of beer cases he was leaning against, and he holds on tight as the floor tip-tilts up towards his face and then away again. Fuck. 

"Hey, hey," Nick's saying, placatingly, which Louis hates, but then one big hand is settling at the dip of his waist and the other's pulling Louis's arm over his shoulders. Nick's enough taller than him that that doesn't work very well, but it's still better than trying to walk on his own. "Lost your legs before your mouth, eh?"

"I never lose my mouth," Louis says, and then regrets it, because it makes him think about sucking Nick's cock.

The bar's entirely empty when they make it outside—Louis really had been in there longer than he thought. Nick deposits Louis on a bar stool so he can finish closing, and Louis lists gently against the bar and watches him. Nick being good at things is terribly, horribly hot, just like everything else about him. Louis hopes he blanked the screen to his mobile before Nick saw what he was looking at.

"How're you getting home?" Nick says. Louis blinks. Nick's sitting on the stool next to him. When did he get there?

"Um, call a cab," Louis says. He rubs his eyes.

Nick stares at him for a moment. "Nope," he says decisively. "I'll drive you. Come on."

"I can pay f'r it," Louis says, even as Nick tightens an arm around his waist again to haul him up. "You don't need to—"

"Yeah, let's not subject a poor taxi driver to your probable vomit." Nick tugs Louis forward, and Louis goes. 

Louis's glad for the smooth stream of alcohol running through his veins, because he's not second-guessing any of this, just enjoying it. Hanging out with Nick, like they're friends or something. Nick taking care of him when he's drunk off his arse. 

He has to buckle Louis in, which is more than a bit embarrassing. Louis leans his cheek against the cool glass and looks at the blurry lights, like little meteor trails against the darker buildings. They zoom past the windows like a time warp special effect, and Louis laughs at it. Nick doesn't ask why.

They pull to a stop a short time later, and before Louis knows it Nick's unbuckling him again. "Where are we?" Louis says. He's so tired; he just wants to go to bed.

"My flat." Nick's face is dipping in and out of shadows, so even if Louis was sober enough to tell what he was thinking it would be impossible. "You didn't answer when I asked you where you lived, so I figured I'd just put you on the sofa tonight. That all right?"

Why is Nick such a fucking decent guy? Louis hates his fucking life. "Sure."

He loses a little more time before they make it up the stairs, but he's awake enough to toe off his shoes and take the glass of water that Nick hands him. He drinks it all down and sets it next to the discolored plastic mixing bowl that Nick's left on the table—"Aim for that if you need it," Nick says, and doesn't specify which bodily function he's referring to—and then curls up under the blanket, fully dressed. He doesn't remember anything else until morning.

* * *

Nick's lounge has thick curtains, so Louis doesn't wake until midmorning, when he hears Nick clattering in the kitchen. Louis creeps out from under the blanket and looks around. There's a pair of pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt on the table that Louis had apparently been too drunk to notice, along with another full glass of water and a couple of paracetamol that he takes the minute he sees them. The lounge is comfy, well-used, with less of the air of a student squat than Louis would've expected from an itinerant bartender in his late thirties. 

Louis picks up the pyjamas and shuffles towards the kitchen noise. Nick sees him immediately and smiles, and the warmth of it is (barely) enough to be felt over Louis's hangover. "Morning," Nick says cheerfully, and Louis resists the urge to give him a truly terrible wedgie so Nick might know half the pain Louis is in.

"I could use a shower," Louis says. He smells like cheap Scotch and regrettable Googling and he'd rather not subject Nick to that. "Do you mind..."

"Yeah, of course," Nick says. He dries his hands on a dish towel and Louis tries not to notice how long his fingers are or how cute he looks with glasses on. "It's down the hallway to the right. I left you a towel and a toothbrush on the counter."

"Thanks," Louis says, surprised. He didn't think it was normal to have shower things laid out for your hungover boss who spent a drunken night on your sofa. But then again he didn't suppose there was an accepted protocol for 'boss spending a drunken night on your sofa' at all. 

There are a surprising number of shower products to choose from. After spotting two razors, a man's and a woman's, Louis deduces that Nick must have a female roommate. No sign of her yet this morning, though. He takes as long as he wants in the shower, which is quite long, thanks, and he uses disgusting amounts of all of Nick's nice-smelling bath products. That backfires because now he smells like Nick and that smell is hooked into his brain right where the dick-hardening messages come from, so he has a long day of inappropriate erections to look forward to.

His clothes are crumpled and sweaty after his night on the sofa, so he pulls on the pyjama bottoms first. They're Nick's and not the mysterious female roommate's, unless Nick found her at the top of a beanstalk: they barely cling to his hips and they're long enough to cover his feet and then some. Louis cuffs them up and then gets a look at himself in the mirror. Nearly obscene, with the top slope of his arse just peeking out above the waistband in the back, and the line of hair below his navel getting visibly thicker in the front before it dips under the criminally low fabric. His whole torso is on display.

It couldn't hurt to try. Right? Since Nick is being so extra special nice to him.

Louis bundles his clothes up and wanders back into the kitchen. "Do you have a washing machine?" he says, holding up the laundry in the universal signal for 'I don't want to make a walk of shame, especially since I didn't get laid'.

Nick turns and, gratifyingly, doesn't say anything for a long moment. Finally he rallies. "Um, yeah," he says. "In here, actually," and he points to a door under the countertop.

Louis doesn't think he imagines Nick breathing in as he walks by. He hopes he gets a good lungful of his own products on Louis's skin. Louis throws the clothes in, adds the washing powder Nick hands him, and punches a couple of buttons until the thing turns on.

"I was going to make a fry-up," Nick says, "but then I remembered I can't cook. How's beans on toast?"

"Coffee?" Louis says hopefully. He's normally a tea man, but hangovers call for stronger measures.

Nick smiles. "Yeah, and coffee." He points to the already-full cafetière on the counter next to Louis's elbow and Louis would feel silly if he wasn't so hungover. Instead he goes digging through Nick's cupboards for the mugs. Nick's watching him with an amused tilt to his mouth, which is not how people are supposed to react to Louis's well-cultivated and very annoying entitlement habit. They're supposed to yell and then love him anyway, not find it _cute_.

Louis finds the mugs and presses the plunger on the cafetière. He makes sure to push extra hard so he looks strong and muscley. He pours himself a mug and then one for Nick, too, when Nick puts the mug too close to be ignored. "Thanks for letting me sleep over," he says.

Nick shrugs. "I've got a sofa. What's the point of that if you don't let your friends kip on it?" 

Friend. Well, that's as clear a sign as he's probably going to get. Now Louis has to decide how obvious he wants to be. As per, the answer is very.

"You didn't have to, though. So thanks." Louis leans against the counter in a way he hopes shows off his stomach, then takes a sip of the coffee. "And for the towel and the clothes and everything."

Nick shrugs again, more awkwardly. "Couldn't let you get lost on the way home in a taxi or summat."

"Lots of people would," Louis says.

"I couldn't." He hesitates and Louis leans closer. "I hope this won't make things, like, weird at work," Nick says, all in a rush.

"We're very casual, as you know," Louis says. He considers adding, _and I'd like to do some things to you that would definitely make things more awkward than this_ , but he should probably wait until Nick is not wielding a hot saucepan.

Nick smiles. "Yeah, I do like that." He glances at Louis but his eyes don't rest anywhere before he's back to looking at the pan.

"Is that unusual, then?" Louis says. 

"You'd know more about clubs than me," Nick says, a bit quickly.

"Me? Naw. _Chance_ is is the only club I've ever worked in." Nick looks surprised. "I was hired on as assistant manager right after my degree, worked my way up to buying the place when the old owners retired." Nick's eyebrows go up in a way that tells Louis he didn't hide the weirdness of that well enough, but he doesn't ask for more detail. It's nothing salacious, anyway, just a stunning bit of luck when Simon, his beloved corporate loan officer at the bank, had decided he was worth taking a chance on. Hence the name. Leveraging the business into a small real-estate empire, that was more to do with Louis's skill, but he's not sure talking about his business acumen is exactly a winning seduction strategy. "Really, though, are we that different from the other places you've worked?"

"I've got some stories," Nick says after a moment. All right, they can both play that game. It's fine. It might already be the longest conversation they've ever had, in fact.

Louis ducks out of the way as Nick picks up the beans and heads for the toast. He doctors the plates up and then holds out one for Louis. "To our lost youth," he says.

"Speak for yourself!" 

"I don't think the young deal with hangovers like you've got."

Louis huffs. "I'm sure you can't remember given your terribly advanced age, but hangovers can occur even to those of us in the prime of life."

Nick's smiling at him again. That's fine, Louis's trying to be amusing now. Neither of them, Louis notices, have actually started eating their breakfast.

"Age has its advantages," Nick says haughtily. "Got an iron liver, me."

"That doesn't sound healthy."

"Hmm, maybe not." Nick tilts his head. "But age also gives me experience, and my experience tells me my liver's fine."

Louis purses his lips. "What sort of experience is that?"

"Oh, all sorts. For instance, I know how not to get drunk over my exes," Nick says, "which is to find somebody new." _Yes!_ screams the little voice in Louis's brain, and he takes a step forward, just as Nick's expression shutters and he plonks his plate on the table, hard. "Or, at least, to get drunk at home, and not at work where my boss can see me." He gives Louis a crooked grin that doesn't make it all the way to believable.

Ugh! Things had been going so well. "Can I just, like, not be your boss for a minute?" Louis says, annoyed, and Nick's eyes drop right to his mouth and stay there. After a moment when nothing happens, Louis says, "Yes," and Nick takes the plate from Louis's hands, puts it on the counter, and pulls him right up into a kiss.

His mouth is big and certain and his tongue, when Louis gets it, is just as clever as it's been in every perverted fantasy Louis's had. Nick's got one hand on the small of Louis's back and Louis can feel, again, how big it is. Louis pushes up and in, all the way to his tiptoes, arms wrapped around Nick's neck to pull him closer, and Nick doesn't seem to mind it at all. Louis gives it about a minute then reaches down to start pulling at the hem of Nick's T-shirt, needing flesh beneath his hands. 

Nick pulls it off and then tugs his hand through his quiff in a gesture that's become achingly familiar to Louis over the short time they've known each other. 

He's stunning topless, long and lanky with little nipples that Louis wants to bite, hair clustered thickly on his chest and more sparsely across his belly. He looks caught between the desire to shrink down to Louis's level and the desire to show off for Louis, so Louis makes him go with the second one by holding his shoulders in place whilst he takes a good long ogle. Nick's starting to blush down his collarbones so Louis applies his tongue to one perfect nipple, licks and then sucks and then sets his teeth just along the edge, and Nick ducks down to kiss him again like he can't resist it any longer. Louis's practically trying to climb him now. Finally Nick shoves one hand down the back of the pyjama bottoms, cupping Louis's arsecheek, and Louis pulls back to gasp in air. Nick turns him and puts his hands on his waist instead—Louis's starting to get the impression that Nick has favourite places on his body—and steers Louis out of the kitchen. "I'm not getting off next to the food," he says, and Louis laughs even as he shivers all over at his words.

Louis feels like he should be looking at the rest of Nick's flat, trying to pick up more details about Nick's life, but his attention's caught by his hard dick and Nick's fingers just above it. They're through a door and into the bedroom before he really notices anything else, and Nick puts him up on the unmade bed on his hands and knees. He wants to protest—he's Louis Tomlinson, men don't just put him where they want him!—except that it feels amazing to let Nick do just exactly that. 

Without a pause, Nick's fingers are digging into his arse, then pulling the pyjamas down and over it. Nick kisses his right arse cheek. "This is a glorious arse," he says, and kisses it again.

Louis wiggles his bum and Nick smacks the other cheek lightly. Shit, that feels nice. 

"You knew exactly what you looked like, too, you slag," Nick says, and Louis would feel offended if he didn't sound utterly appreciative, utterly aroused. His mouth moves up, hot breath and soft lips, and works on the small of Louis's back for a bit. Then back down, nibbling at Louis's tailbone, and then his big fingers are spidering out to cover Louis's arse cheeks and pull them apart, and then his mouth is on Louis's hole instead.

"Fuck!" Louis says, with feeling, and jerks back into Nick's face. Nick doesn't stop, though, his broad flat tongue licking over him again and again, till Louis is wet, dripping with it, filthy. Nick's breath warm and then cooling against his own saliva, the tip of his tongue just starting to press inside, swirling around and pushing back in. Louis drops to one shoulder and gets his hand on his prick. It's like a whip crack in his nervous system, the sudden connection in sensation making him groan out loud. 

Nick murmurs something against his arse. 

"Didn't catch that," Louis says, or pants, or something.

Of course, that makes Nick stop. "Let me hear you, love," he says, and the pet name licks through him like a flame. Nick kisses the meat of his arse again, one side and then the other. "Love your voice. Sounds so good."

"Lick me," Louis says, as demanding as he can manage with his hand still inching him closer and closer to the edge. Nick laughs and dips his tongue back where it belongs. He's aware, suddenly, of Nick's stubble running across the sensitive soft skin around his hole—he's going to look a right mess tomorrow, bruises from Nick's fingers and red from the beard burn, and it makes him clench against Nick's mouth and jerk himself harder still. "Yes, yes, God," he says, remembering Nick's request, "keep doing that—"

Nick starts inching his thumb inside. "Fuck!" Louis says again, and Nick laughs out on a breath. Louis pushes back, trying to get more inside him. The drag of it is too much, spit isn't slick enough, but even the promise of something inside him is turning him inside out with how much he wants it. Nick licks around his finger and pushes and pushes until it's all the way inside, and—just like Louis thought—his thumbs are so long it's right against his prostate, pushing down until it's all he can feel, Nick's tongue on him and his thumb inside him and somewhere, distantly, his own hand hurtling him towards orgasm. Nick's tongue curls and Louis can hear his voice, muffled and useless, and then Louis's talking too, babbling something about fingers, just before he clenches down and starts to come and everything turns into blissful buzzing fucking sensory overload.

He's coaxed onto Nick's chest as he slides down from the high, and he curls up there, breathing hard, shaking. Nick pets his hair. Eventually he notices that Nick's still hard, boxers jutting up over his hipbones. His nipples are right at Louis's eye level again, though, so he latches onto one and sucks hard as he curls his fingers under Nick's waistband and around his erection. "Yeah—oh, that's, that's good," Nick says, riding his hips up into Louis's fist. Louis kisses his neck and his collarbones and goes back down to bite his nipples like he'd wanted to, and Nick finally comes, knees drawn up and stomach jerking with it. Louis aggressively cuddles him until Nick's arms come up around him, long and kind of sweaty but comforting anyway.

"I really didn't have an ulterior motive when I brought you home," Nick says finally.

Louis gently bites his shoulder. "You did when you gave me those pyjamas though."

"Yeah," Nick says. Louis can hear the smile in his voice.

Louis props himself up so he can see Nick's expression better. "How long have you wanted to eat my arse, anyway?"

Nick blushes. Cute. "Er, since the first time I saw you standing up?"

"Awww." Louis grabs his cheek and shakes it, and Nick laughs and paws at him until he stops. "Well, if you want to eat it again—or do anything else to it"—Louis gropes Nick's soft cock, just to be sure he understands—"let me know."

"I do want," Nick says, very seriously.

Louis swallows.

Nick's phone goes off.

Louis and Nick both stare at it. Then Louis raises his eyebrows, and Nick leans over to check it. It's a text, and he goes grey looking at the screen. "Um," he says, when he's read it. "I have a meeting I kind of forgot about, so I'm going to have to—"

"Oh, yeah, fine," Louis says. He tries not to show the disappointment welling from somewhere deep inside him as Nick gets up and starts dressing himself. "Clothes?"

"Still washing," Nick says. He tosses a T-shirt at Louis, and a pair of shorts, which are going to be long on him, but not as long as the jeans would be, hopefully. "I'll bring them back on Tuesday, all right?"

Louis nods. "Yeah. Wait—a meeting? Am I losing you to some other club?" The T-shirt is a worn-thin Kanye tour shirt. Louis's already debating with himself whether or not Nick is ever getting it back. 

Nick doesn't meet his eyes, which is very worrying. "No," he says, though, and Louis doesn't think he'd lie. He kisses Louis on the temple. "I'll see you soon, yeah?" 

"At work tomorrow," Louis says, faux cheerfully, and Nick hesitates and agrees.

* * *

It's weird. Louis doesn't want it to be weird, but it's weird.

Before Nick comes in, Louis switches the vodka bottles around, away from Nick's preferred ordering. Nick doesn't say anything to him about it, though, not even to complain, and Nick loves complaining. He smiles and waves like normal, but he doesn't have a real conversation with Louis at all, even when Louis comes over specially. He's laughing and joking with Niall, though, so it's just Louis he's avoiding.

Louis still has the marks from yesterday morning on him, and Nick won't even make eye contact.

He sends Nick a text in the middle of the evening, when he can see there's a lull at the bar. _You've got a job no matter what we do or don't do_ , he says, just in case that's the issue. All he gets back is, _Thanks._

"Men are the worst," he says to Niall when he finds him on the sofa in the back.

"Uh-huh," Niall says. He's face-down on the cushions and doesn't seem that interested in talking, which is the sort of thing lesser men than Louis might care about.

"I'm going solo."

"Yep."

"Nothing but my hand and my toys for me from now on," Louis declares.

"Too much information."

"Like you don't have any fun items hidden at home."

Niall groans into the cushions. "But I don't _talk about it_ ," he says. He rolls over and blinks up at Louis. "Can I finish my nap now, or do you need to give me more details on your sex life? Any favorite positions you wanna tell me?"

Louis huffs. "Fine. I'll go deal with my trauma on my own."

"You do that." Niall rolls back over, and Louis elects to leave him alone. This time. He should really find more friends who aren't employees. Also, love interests, same.

He finds Nick alone eventually. "I'm sorry," he says, first. If they're not on the same page, that's not Nick's fault. Louis's an arse, but only when he chooses to be. "It really doesn't have to be weird."

"Okay," Nick says, giving him absolutely the fakest smile Louis's ever seen.

"Your job's not in jeopardy. We don't have to ever talk again about not-work stuff. I just wanted to be clear about that."

Nick nods. "We're good. Don't worry about it."

"You're sure?" Louis says.

"One hundred percent." Nick smiles, smaller, wry, more like a real one. "No weirdness here."

That's patently false, but Louis will take it.

* * *

So it's back to business as usual, which means Louis thinking about Nick far more than he should, with rather more detail than he'd had available to him before.

If he'd known it would be the only time—it hadn't seemed like it, at the time; it had seemed like Nick's desire was as strong as Louis's, with the way he'd been so visibly denying himself in the kitchen, and how clearly he'd planned what he'd done to Louis—he would have taken his time. He would have got Nick's pyjamas all the way off and had a look at his legs, a better look at his cock than what he'd had during the furious last few minutes of getting him off. He would have kissed him more, and longer, and sweeter, if he'd thought he wasn't going to do it again. Instead, he has flashes of Nick's chest and stomach, the smile on his face as he'd turned Louis around to push him into the bedroom, the soft look just before they were interrupted.

And what was that interruption, anyway? A meeting? Nick hadn't been employed when Louis hired him, and he wasn't having any trouble making his shifts, so he probably hadn't picked up a second job. Also, Niall hadn't said anything about it, and Niall would, to Louis, if he knew, because he was loyal. (Louis hides the limes on one of Nick's days off, just to show Niall how much he cares. "You should hire Nick full time," Niall tells him later that evening, and Louis can't tell if that's observation or revenge. Niall's very perceptive, but he usually keeps it to himself.)

Harry drops by again, but he just looks at Nick sadly and then Louis even more sadly, so that's no help. 

In the end, Louis goes back to treating Nick like had before, or as close to it as he can get. Arrogant demands for drinks, messing with his organization, competitive games in the storage room: it's all fine. And if he doesn't do any of that _alone_ with Nick anymore, well. Sometimes you don't get the things you want.

Even their regular conversations are more solemn than usual. "Can I have next Sunday off?" Nick asks him, instead of, "My secret overlords demand I keep this Sunday evening free," or, "Tomlinson, you're a menace, can't a man get a single day off this Sunday? You're working me fingers to the bone!" And Louis says, "Sure," instead of, " _I'm_ your secret overlord! Tell me who thinks they are so I can fight them!" or, "I can't see my face in the bar yet, peon! Scrub! Scrub as if your life depended on it!" But Niall's cheerful enough to fill in the gaps in the conversation, and Louis's going to hide the gaps in his emotions, because that's nobody's business but his own.

* * *

There's a knot of people at the bar right in front of Nick, all talking excitedly and loudly. They're drinking, too, so Louis doesn't think much about it, until he gets close and hears them calling him "Grimmy."

That's interesting no matter what's going on with his relationship with Nick, so Louis makes his way over and leans on the counter next to them. Nick will have to put up with his company for a few minutes: he's still far too invested in everything Nick Grimshaw to give up an opportunity to meet his friends. "Evening," he says cheerfully, and about half the group turn to look at him. Louis realizes with a start that of course it's the group from Nick's Instagram, and that means familiar faces. He's met Pixie Geldof before, so he talks to her first. "Welcome to Chance," he says. "First time here?"

"I've been in a couple of times," Pixie says. Good, she remembers him. "Didn't expect to see you out so early, though, Louis."

Daisy looks surprised, and so does another woman Louis doesn't know with green hair. He might be paranoid, or they might know what happened. Great. Best make a swift exit. "I like to make sure things are running smoothly," he says. "But I'm sure Nick will take good care of you, yeah?"

The woman with green hair reaches across the bar and fucks with Nick's quiff, making him yell in protest and bat her hands away. "Sure he will, sweet thing," another woman says. Nick makes a face at her.

"We've been wondering where he disappeared to," a tall man says. "Glad to know he's been in good hands. Got him out of the house and everything." Nick squawks.

Louis really can't tell if those were double entendres or not. "Well, have a lovely evening, and if you need anything Nick can come find me. Welcome again!"

They're laughing and chattering at Nick again before Louis even turns away, but when Louis looks back one last time before he heads to his office, Nick's looking at him instead.

* * *

"Hey, can I talk to you?" Nick says.

Louis jerks his head up. Nick's leaning in the doorway, and a glance at the clock tells him it's after closing. Nick hasn't tried to get him one-on-one in the weeks since they'd slept together, so this must be serious. "Sure," Louis says, and gestures to the spare chair. He's contrived to leave before the end of the night every night Nick was closing so far, but the paperwork distracted him tonight. Hopefully it won't be too awkward.

Nick closes the door behind him—even more interesting—and sits down awkwardly. He studies his hands in his lap for a moment, then looks up at Louis and stills. He takes a breath, lets it out. 

Louis's aware, suddenly, that he's probably staring.

Nick nods to himself, like he's made a decision. "You said, if I wanted to do, um, anything else."

Louis startles. He must look excited, though, not scared, because Nick starts to smile; and once Nick's smiling then Louis does too, and it's runaway feedback till they're both grinning at each other across the far too wide expanse of Louis's desk. 

"I'll take that as a yes, then?" Nick says, and laughs when Louis strips his shirt off and comes over to sit in Nick's lap.

He'd been right, through all those horrible, torturous fantasies after he'd slept with Nick and thought he wouldn't get to do it again: sitting on Nick's lap puts him right at the right height for kissing. His face is still higher than Louis's, so Louis's got to stretch up just a bit, with one arm wound round his neck to keep him in place. One of Nick's hands goes right to his arse again—it's Louis's best feature, and he loves when it's appreciated—and the other holds his thighs in place, crosswise across Nick's own, Louis's ankles tucked behind Nick's calves. 

They draw it out longer this time, till Louis's a puddle of melted arousal in Nick's lap and Nick's panting into his mouth whenever they pause for breath. It's occurring to Louis now that they should have adjourned to another venue—like his bedroom, at his flat, ten minutes away—but no way he's stopping now. He grabs Nick's hand and puts it on his dick, and Nick moans and bites his earlobe, so they're on the same page with that, at least. "The desk?" Louis says. There's the sofa in the break room, but he doesn't know if everybody's left yet.

Nick's too busy feeling out the contours of his cock and mauling his ear to reply, so Louis has to take the initiative. He slides off Nick's lap to clear the desktop. Nick follows him like a shadow, running his hands over Louis's torso and kissing the back of his neck, unwilling, apparently, to not be in contact even as long as it takes for Louis to get the breakable or sharp things out of the way. Not that Louis minds. He turns in Nick's arms and kisses him again one it's ready, and Nick helps him up onto the desk, so he's seated and Nick's finally, for the first time, between his thighs. Louis locks his ankles behind Nick's knees and starts to pull Nick's shirt off.

"Let me guess," Nick says, muffled by fabric. His head clears the shirt and he kisses Louis again, lingering, before reaching down with his right hand. "Wouldn't be the top drawer, anybody could open that looking for something, but bottom would be too far to reach when you're busy..." He pulls open the second drawer down, all the way out, and grabs the lube and condoms in the back. 

Louis stares at them, rather uncomfortably turned on by this show of knowledge. And also angry that he's still wearing his jeans.

Nick's apparently come to the same conclusion, because he steps away from Louis, breaking the ankle lock, and shoves his jeans down. Louis does the same, clumsy with eyes on Nick rather than what he's doing. Nick's legs are long and lean and muscular, and his cock bobs away from his body, curving up hard and flushed pink. He smiles at Louis again, eyes roaming down and over him, making him feel exposed and wanted all at the same time; he grabs the last leg of Louis's jeans, still stuck around one ankle, and pulls them off, before stepping back in and pulling Louis forward so they're pressed together neck to groin, all that blood-warm pale skin touching all of Louis's. His cock is hard and long up against Louis's belly, so Louis can visualize how far inside him it's going to go. He tightens his thighs around Nick's hips, and Nick reaches for the lube, his face so near Louis's that Louis can't think of anything else.

A moment of pressure and then Nick's folding two long fingers into him, thick, right where Louis wants them. Louis fists his cock and leans up into Nick's face again for a kiss, wanting Nick's tongue in him as much as his fingers. This feels right in a way the last two weeks haven't felt right at all, and it's both pleasure and triumph to know that he wasn't wrong, that Nick does want him too. He twists Nick's nipple with his free hand and Nick laughs into his mouth. See, Louis knew Nick was perfect for him. Yes. He bites at Nick's lips and Nick just kisses him back.

"Another?" Nick says.

"No." Louis tightens his legs around Nick again. "Just fuck me, c'mon. Been waiting."

"I've got you," Nick says, which makes Louis's heart pound in his chest. But he can feel Nick tearing the condom open in the small amount of space between their stomachs, and he's too busy opening Nick's mouth with biting kisses again give into any of the emotions that are threatening at the corners of his mind. Louis puts one foot up on the edge of the desk to make sure there's room, and Nick wraps one arm around his waist and pushes in.

Louis breathes in and breathes in and tries to lean back to get used to it, but Nick doesn't let him go. If anything he tugs him closer, and he puts a hand on the back of Louis's neck, like he can't stand it if Louis goes anywhere. He surges forward in a thrust that requires more strength than Louis thought he really had, given the way he always looks so floppy, and Louis's breath catches in his throat. He's balanced too precariously on the edge of the desk now, so he wraps his arms around Nick's torso to hold him in place, and Nick moans and kisses him harder and fucks him better, like all he wants is to fuse them into one person. Louis's cock is pressed tight between them, and the friction's going to be more than enough, between the interesting textures where Nick's hairy and Louis isn't, and the way he's held open and vulnerable around Nick's dick, and the relentless pressure up against his prostate. If anything, he's going to come too soon, although at the moment he feels like coming at all would be coming too soon, with how brilliant this feels.

He's not sure how long he lasts, in the end. It's all one long pulsing motion of Nick's cock driving into him, his tongue against Nick's tongue, his cock pinched tight between them, until he falls over the edge and shoots for what feels like forever, getting both of them stickier than they already were. Nick sucks in a huge breath and speeds up, letting his angle slip, and follows Louis not much later, like he'd just been waiting for Louis to come first.

Nick's trembling beneath Louis's hands, and he looks down and realizes that Nick's been standing on bent knees the whole time to be at the right height. Louis's not that stable himself, perched on the edge of the desk with one knee up and the other leg dangling half around Nick's hips. So he pushes Nick back into the office chair and then follows him down, curling up in his lap, petting his hair and his face, kissing his cheek. He thinks he's got a right to be clingy after getting fucked that well. Nick's rubbing idly at his hip, head tipped back against the chair, eyes closed. Louis's worried he'll run again, but then he supposes they'll both have to leave at some point—can't sleep in the club.

Louis runs his hand across Nick's collarbone, fingers the point of his shoulder, traces down his biceps to the soft skin of his inner elbow and rests his hand there. "Everything cleaned up?" he says.

Nick tenses unmistakably beneath him. "Yeah," he says, not opening his eyes. "M'job's done, yes, boss."

"Just checking we can cuddle for as long as we want," Louis says, tartly, but it makes Nick relax anyway. If anything it makes him looser than before—he molds himself to Louis, eyes closed, but rearranged, like Louis is his own personal source of gravity. Just as he should be, frankly.

He's almost asleep when Nick's hand stills where it's been slowly hypnotizing him. "I suppose we should go home," Nick says.

"Yeah." Louis kisses him one last time, long and lazy, before he stands up on half-asleep legs and starts looking for his pants. 

He was wrong about one last kiss: Nick grabs him again once they're both dressed and snogs him up against the desk until Louis's panting again. Christ, if they had a bed he'd be looking for round two. 

"Night," Nick says, when he's finished.

"Night," Louis says. He scratches his jaw. "And, uh. I'll see you Thursday, yeah?"

"Yeah," Nick says, with an odd pinched look. Well, if he's thinking of running away again, he'll just have to get used to the idea that Louis's not going to let him go this time.

* * *

Louis doesn't know if Nick came back during the day, or if Louis just hadn't noticed in his tired rush the night before, but the next time he goes into his office, there's a letter of resignation on his keyboard.

* * *

When Louis calls him to ask, Harry says, "Oh, Grimmy? Well, yeah, he's making another album, so he probably doesn't have the time."

Louis pauses. "What?" He'd been calling Harry as the only sympathetic ear he didn't employ—he hadn't realized Harry would have actual gossip on the matter.

"Didn't he tell you?"

"That he's making an album, or that he's made one before?" Louis frowns. "He wasn't using my club for meeting people, right? I mean—he could, if he wanted to, it's part of his job, but I would've wanted to know so I could keep track of who was—"

"He doesn't need connections," Harry says with a frown in his voice. "What are you talking about?"

"What are _you_ talking about?" It's louder than he means it to be.

Harry hums in a thinking sort of way. "Okay," he says finally. "What do you know about Grimmy?"

"He's thirty-seven," Louis starts out. Doesn't know why that came out first. "He wasn't employed when I hired him, and one of his friends said he hadn't been out of the house in a while. He's got some famous friends, I guess, but I don't know how he met them." Louis chews on his lip. "He's, like, the nicest guy and he seems to like me even though I'm an arse, and he's still—"

"Okay, okay, I get it, you're in love," Harry says. "Do you know him by any other name?"

"...Grimmy?" Louis says.

"He also goes by Prinz of Noize?"

It sounds familiar. Louis frowns. Suddenly, though, he's got it. "The, like, electronica guy? With—"

"Yeah," Harry says.

"He was big when I was in year seven," Louis says. "I didn't—really?"

"Yep. I mean, I've known him forever. I thought you knew."

Louis thinks he remembers pictures of him. Big eyes; kinda twinky, almost. "He's taller in person," he says finally.

"Oh?" Harry says, sounding interested. "Yeah, he's tall. How did that—"

"No, I'm not giving you details."

"Awww."

"Okay. I guess that's a good reason to quit his job," Louis says.

"Are you going to do a grand romantic gesture before he leaves? Because I'm willing to help out."

"No."

"You should," Harry says. "He likes you, and he even likes it when you fuck with him."

"Everybody likes it when I fuck with them," Louis says automatically, and Harry laughs at the other end of the line. Louis looks at his mobile suspiciously, because that laugh sounded a bit...skeptical, but Harry doesn't say anything else.

"Well, let me know how it goes," Harry says, as though Louis's agreed to his grand romantic gesture plans.

"You're a horrible child."

"Love you too, Lou," Harry says, and hangs up on him.

* * *

Somewhat to Louis's surprise, Nick shows up for his shift the next day. Technically he's required to give two weeks' notice, but Louis thought the postcoital resignation letter was as dramatic an exit as Nick would be able to make, and they're both rather fond of the grand gesture, Harry wasn't wrong about that. He should be angry, but in fact he's thrilled, because it means he might be able to convince Nick to stay with him.

"I'm sorry for not telling you in person," Nick says, when Louis finally corners him in the storage room. He laughs, awkwardly. He's trying to play it up, Louis thinks. Well, it doesn't matter. Louis's got his second chance.

"I hear congratulations are in order." Louis lets as much faux innocence colour his tone as he thinks Nick will believe. From the way Nick turns red, it doesn't work at all, so he drops the act. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

Nick looks down. Fuck, he's so goodlooking. "I, uh. Well, I didn't at first, and then it was weird."

"Didn't know you could sing," Louis says. He's smiling, even though he wants to make Nick sweat a little longer. "Didn't know you were into music at all, actually."

"Oh, I can't sing." Nick laughs. "Just mixed stuff together, y'know?" He makes a kind of wavey gesture with his big hands. "David Guetta or Mark Ronson, only, like, not as good."

"Hey," Louis says. "You're very good, I'm sure. Or at least better at it then you were at bartending."

"Hey!" 

Louis laughs and steps a little closer. Nick's eyebrows go up, but he doesn't move.

"So, basically, you're a rich, famous music star, and you let me think you were an unemployed bartender and I might be abusing my position by hitting on you?"

Nick's starting to smile behind his eyes, like he's figuring out what Louis already knows: he's forgiven. "Guess I didn't think of it that way," he says. "I mean, you're so little—"

"Oi!" Louis says, drawing himself up, which makes Nick grin more widely.

"—it didn't occur to me you'd be wielding any power over me at all," he finishes smugly.

"You're winding me up on purpose," Louis accuses, and Nick reaches out to take his hand, which he supposes is answer enough. "You don't need to finish your shifts, anyway," Louis says. "I'm sure you've got important music things to do for your little side project." Nick tugs him closer still. "And we can manage one bartender short. We were doing that before you showed up, anyway."

"Plus, we can't have anyone thinking you're fucking the help," Nick says.

"No, what a horrible thought." Louis leans against his shoulder.

"I have one condition if we're going to keep this up," Nick says.

"Just one?"

"I'm gonna need you to smile like that, like, all the time."

Louis looks up, startled, and then grins. 

"Yeah, like that," Nick says, smiling back.

"Well, keep me happy, and I will."

"Deal," Nick says, and seals it with a kiss.


End file.
